


The Barricade's Mirror

by thedescentintohell



Category: les mis, les miserable
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, in this piece Courfeyrac and Combeferre are kinda platonic soulmates just fyi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-27
Updated: 2015-03-27
Packaged: 2018-03-19 22:19:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3626337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedescentintohell/pseuds/thedescentintohell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Javert waited for his impending execution, he watched the young revolutionaries. He knew all of their stories all too well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Barricade's Mirror

                                Some might say that Javert had no understanding of other people. And he supposed that, in a way, it was true. He would not ever let someone's feelings or situation get in the way of the law- of justice. However, that wasn't to say that he did not see the inner workings of humanity. He did. Inside of him was an innate ability to analyze anyone's situation. To understand them. And so, though he may not have known them socially, he knew these young revolutionaries all too well.

* * *

                                                                                                                         **Gavroche**

 The boy, he was short, with floppy, matted, blonde hair, and he was the reason  Javert had been found out. And he could see it in this boy's eyes. He could see the need to be a hero. The defiant way his shoulders stood, the look of utter fierceness that said he would do anything for the cause.

                                                                         It was the kind of look that would get him killed.

* * *

 

                                                                                             **Eponine and Marius and Implications of Cosette**

 There was the girl. Muddy brown hair, sad eyes. He had seen her before. He had arrested her before. She was a crook, same as her whole family, same as Valjean. To be there, she must have cared something for the revolution, but clearly, she cared more for one of the revolutionaries. Her eyes almost never left him, as she followed him all around the barricade, the same way, he was sure, that she followed him everywhere else. She looked out for him, handing him guns, pulling him back by the hand as bullets whizzed past. She would die that day. For him.

                                 And yet his eyes were somewhere else, burning with a different passion. Not of the sort which the leader held, but just as hopeless as that of the girl's. He was in a far off place, with another person. He was in love. He didn't love the girl who followed him, and he never would. He couldn't. Not when he was so infatuated with another.

                                 The girl did die that day. For him. And he pretended to love her.

                                 Javert wasn't sad to see the girl's end. He wasn't. 

                                 (He was).

* * *

 

                                                                                    **Joly and Bossuet and Musichetta, Who was There in Spirit**

As Javert watched, he saw two men. Boys, really. He saw their foreheads pressed together, their hands mingling as they waited for attack. One was bald, and clearly fiercely loyal. He had seen the other doctoring those who had fallen. And they were missing someone.

                 It was as though they were meant to be together, these two, but someone was missing, as though they were only two parts of a whole, which required three. And surely enough, he realized he was right as he heard a name, a whisper, a secret that wasn't a secret.

                   "We have to fight for her. We have to fight for Musichetta."

* * *

 

                                                                                                                      **Bahorel**

 One of them laughed in the face of all the danger, for though the situation was dire, brutal, he needed to remain strong. For his friends, for himself. And yet, when turned away from those who needed him, fear overtook his eyes. This one was smart. He knew what was coming and he was afraid of it. He was strong, and could easily fight most people, one would imagine. And yet he was afraid of the death that would surely follow because of the little war they were waging.

 Javert turned away before this one died.

* * *

 

                                                                                                          **Enjolras and Grantaire**

They bickered, Javert noted about the leader of the group and his most inebriated follower. The drunkard, whom Javert could find little respect for, challenged everything the golden leader said, simply to get a reaction. For he loved and believed in and cherished the leader, and yet found himself not worthy of such a deity. And so he who forced himself not to believe, believed only in a bottle. Or so he told himself.  

                                 The leader, meanwhile, felt too much. "The Marble Man" they called him. If only they knew. He was not marble, not emotionless. He felt with every fiber of his being. He knew what all of this would come to, and could hardly stand it, and yet, he could not sit by and let things stay the same. He felt everything. 

                                 They were the sun and the sun's shadow, or maybe they were just people. It didn't matter what they were, though. No matter what they were, they were sinking out of the sky, going down, down, down.

* * *

 

                                                                                                      **Courfeyrac and Combeferre** **  
**

One was clearly the more responsible of the two. He was calm and steady, whereas the other was pulsing, vibrant, life. Both were second in command. They were a team, you see. Both worshiped their fearless leader. One guided the rest, giving small pieces of advice here and there, keeping on a brave face. He even kept the leader in check. The other, though, was the source of any optimism that remained, cheering the rest on, keeping on his own version of a brave face. They were different sides of the same coin, yin and yang. They completed each other.

* * *

                                                                                                                  **Jean Provaire** **  
**

There was one young man who shouldn't have been there. Well, that's not quite true. No one really wanted him to be there, though,  for they were going to die, and they knew it, and if anyone deserved to live, it was him, the beloved Jean Provaire whom everyone looked out for. They all thought him a bit delicate.

                                  But he fought. He fought with the intensity of a thousand warriors, for this was his battle, these were his friends, and if they were going down, well then, they were going down together. Simple as that.

* * *

                                                                                                                      **Feuilly**

He was one of the people. Most of the others were actually considerably well off, simply fighting for what they believed in. But this man, this fanmker, fought for more than that. He worked, and he fought for that right. He lived, and he fought for that right. He was one of the people. Most of the others had a choice when they fought. He did not, however, because he was fighting for his and everyone else's right to live, and you simply don't give up on that.

* * *

                                                                                                                  **Jean Valjean**

Jean Valjean. The thief. He showed up, and saved them, and asked to be the one to dispose of the spy, Javert. It was not a surprise. Jean Valjean was a criminal, a crook, who sought revenge for those years he'd spent in prison. Jean Valjean was everything Javert despised.

Jean Valjean. The savior. He let Javert go. He could have killed him, but instead, he let the Inpsector go. Javert wasn't fooled. He knew it was a trick, a way of saving his own hide. He knew the man hoped for Javert to forgive him and let him go. He knew. He knew all too well.

                                                                                                     Didn't he?

 

 


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